


The Past, Present, and Future of the Dominion

by kaijuvenom



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: All individual chapters will have summaries and warnings, All of these are the dominion but at different periods of time, Drabble Collection, Gen, I’m making things up again, M/M, None of the chapters are connected, Possible Warnings To be Added, possible additional characters, some are the 930 year skip in discovery, some might be mirror universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28416708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: A collection of drabbles varying in length depicting potential futures of the Dominion, along with AU’s, what-if’s, and various fix-it’s regarding the fate of, specifically, the Vorta as a species. Some may be shippy, angsty, happy, and so on.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Internment Camp 371

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A confrontation between the crew of discovery and the dominion 800 years after the first Dominion war. why does the crew of discovery need ultritium? idk. why is ultritium suddenly Only found on this specific asteroid? idk. how does space work? not important.
> 
> No romantic relationships, no warnings.

“We can’t access the ultritium on the asteroid, even if we _wanted_ to,” Admiral Vance said, his hands clasped behind his back as he turned away from Michael and Saru.

“Why? _Discovery_ can use our spore drive to jump to the Gamma Quardrant-” Michael began.

“You wouldn’t need the spore drive, you could use the wormhole. But it isn’t that. That asteroid is under the control of the Dominion, and the Federation’s relationship with the Dominion has been tenuous at best since the discovery of their existence. Since the Burn, our contact has been limited, but suffice it to say, they wouldn’t take kindly to a Federation presence.”

“The Dominion?” Saru repeated. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize that name.”

“You’re lucky. The Dominion Wars were some of the bloodiest in our history. They started about a hundred years after your time.”

Michael stepped forward, glancing at Saru briefly, who nodded to her. “Admiral, that asteroid is _filled_ with unmined ultritium, and we need it. If we have to make some kind of deal with the Dominion to do it, it’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

“The Dominion will _not_ make a deal with the Federation,” Admiral Vance stated, and that seemed to be the end of the matter.

********

“So we aren’t listening to that,” Tilly said, glancing between Michael and Saru. “Right?”

There was silence for a moment, before Saru turned and sat in the captain’s chair. “No. We are not. Black Alert.”

The ship’s lights darkened, and _Discovery_ vanished from Federation headquarters, appearing in what the Admiral had called Dominion territory. 

“No ships nearby,” Owo confirmed. “But... there are lifesigns in the asteroid. Along with the ultritium.”

 _“In_ the asteroid?” Saru repeated. “How many?”

"Thousands. At least two distinct species. I don’t recognize them, but our scanners seem to.”

“Bryce, open a channel, and if this is the aforementioned Dominion, they don’t seem to be much of a threat.”

“Captain, they are receiving our hail,” Bryce said, glancing up briefly.

Saru nodded. “This is Captain Saru of the USS _Discovery._ We are here on behalf of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets. Please acknowledge.”

There was silence for a moment, before a static, scratching noise was heard, like someone was fighting over the comm system, until a voice responded and a blurry video of someone appeared onscreen. 

“This is Luaran, please-” The voice was cut off, replaced by a different voice, and the blurry figure on the screen was pushed away by someone else.

“Apologies,” the new voice said, “what Luaran meant was, _go to hell.”_ And then the video was completely cut off. 

Michael raised an eyebrow, glancing at Tilly, who shrugged. 

After a short moment of rather stunned silence, Saru turned to Bryce briefly. “Try hailing them again.”

Before he could, the viewscreen flickered, and the image of an alien unrecognizable by the crew appeared, smiling in a way that was somehow utterly convincing and incredibly insincere. He had pale skin that glimmered slightly as he moved and startlingly violet eyes. His hair was dark and wildly curly, long enough to trail past his shoulders, obstructing most of his features from view.

“Greetings,” he said, and his voice was smooth and calm, exuding an aura of control. “Apologies for the rude introduction you recieved, but we weren’t expecting any contact from the… _Federation.”_ He said the word Federation as if it was poison in his mouth, spitting it at them derisively, although his kind smile didn’t waver.

Saru recovered from the previous alien’s greeting rather quickly, attempting to match the one on the viewscreen’s serene energy. “It’s perfectly alright. I’m assuming you are… members of the Dominion, yes?”

The alien’s expression darkened as it twisted into a grimace, his eyes shining so brightly they might’ve blinded someone. "No thanks to you, of course.”

“I’m sorry?” Saru asked.

Choosing not to clarify, the alien brushed his hair away from his face, revealing ears reminiscent of that of a lemur of some kind. “I’m afraid I’ve been terribly rude, I haven’t even given you my name. I’m Weyoun, ninety-fourth in my line.” He tipped his head almost submissively, his smile once again back. “Allow me to humbly welcome you to my home, Internment Camp 371. If you would like to continue our conversation, please beam down with however many representatives you’d like to the coordinates I have provided.”

The viewscreen went blank again. 

The crew stared in stunned silence at what was now the image of the asteroid projected on the viewscreen, before Michael finally spoke.

“Did he provide coordinates?” She asked, glancing at Bryce, who nodded in confirmation. 

“Owo?”

“It’s somewhere inside the asteroid, but it could be inside a rock or the middle of a prison cell, and I couldn’t tell you,” Owo said. 

“But it’s still our best chance.”

“I agree.” Saru stood. “Burnham, Doctor Culber, and I will beam down. Anyone else would be too much of a risk for us. Ensign Tilly, you have the chair.”

********

“Welcome!” The alien who’d introduced himself as Weyoun greeted them, spreading his arms in what was likely meant to be a friendly gesture. “It’s been about eight hundred years since we’ve had any Starfleet officers on this asteroid, how _exciting.”_ The way he said _exciting_ was the same way anyone else might say _disgusting_ or _rancid._

“I do hope you won’t judge us by our appearance, but our supplies of ketracel-white are running low and our dearly beloved Founders will not be gracing us with their presence for three more days.” It was hard to tell what parts of his sentences were meant to be sincere, every other word was laced with double meanings and sarcasm.

“Ketracel-white?” Hugh repeated, the first to speak. “Is that some kind of drug?”

Weyoun laughed, placing a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. His laugh would have been a pretty noise if it wasn’t filled with contempt. _“Some kind of drug,_ he says. As if Starfleet doesn’t know. I take it you’re a doctor?” 

“Yes.”

“How delightful. Yes, Starfleet declined the dozens of requests for asylum and medical aid the Vorta made during the aftermath of the second and third Dominion wars, but of course, you can calmly, naively, ask me _is that some kind of drug?”_

“Mr. Weyoun,” Saru began, to which Weyoun held up a hand.

“Just Weyoun.”

“Weyoun,” he began again, “I’m afraid my crew and I have no knowledge of the Dominion wars. We haven’t heard of the Vorta or ketracel-white, or these… _Founders._ We have been… indisposed.”

“Indisposed?” Weyoun repeated, blinking owlishly at them. “For eight hundred years?”

“You could say that, yes.”

“I see,” Weyoun said, using a tone that clearly stated he did not see and didn’t care to. 

“We would be happy to provide you with any aid possible, in exchange for-”

Weyoun held up a hand, silencing him. “In exchange for nothing. Starfleet nearly caused the extinction of the Vorta and our Jem’Hadar brethren, and left us at the mercy of our sadistic, warmongering masters. You will receive nothing from us.”

“So that’s why the other Vorta we spoke to told us to go to hell?” Michael asked.

Weyoun cringed. “Ah, yes. Keevan. Despite his lack of diplomacy and… general lackadaisical attitude--honestly, I don’t know why the Founders allow his line to continue if not to personally punish me--that is the general sentiment regarding the Federation, yes.”

“You keep using that word, _line,_ what do you mean by that?”

Weyoun turned back to Hugh, who he seemed to have forgotten existed. “The Vorta are all clones. I am the ninety-fourth iteration of the Weyoun line.”

“Why do you live in an… internment camp?” 

“It is the Founder’s way to keep us in line. They send rebellious Vorta to asteroids much like this one, which were used to house Starfleet, Romulan, and Klingon prisoners of war during the Dominion wars. They use the remaining Jem’Hadar still dependent on ketracel-white to guard us and make sure our stay is… torturous enough.”

“The Founders are your creators, then?” Saru asked, tilting his head. 

“Not exactly. We are capable of cloning on our own, without their _help._ Our ancestors were created by the Founders, and for thousands of years, we were forced to love and worship them as Gods, even as they ordered us to our deaths over and over again.”

“And instead of helping your species, the Federation treated you as the enemy?” Saru finished.

“Evidently.”

“Why? They must not have known that-”

“Oh, they knew. They knew, and they know. But they are also aware that giving the Vorta protection would mean the beginning of another war, and they refuse to risk that just for _us.”_


	2. Hello, Nice To Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damar accidentally travels through the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant during the Cardassia Occupation and is found by Weyoun and his ship of Jem'Hadar.
> 
> Warnings/Pairings: Damar/Weyoun, mentions of death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Is anyone we meet really that new to us? A kiss is a kiss, a face is a face. So what if we met in another time and another place?_

Defecting hadn’t originally been Damar’s plan. He was too convinced of his duty to Cardassia to defect, so no matter how much he despised Dukat or cringed away at the unnecessary torture of the Bajorans, he wouldn’t have defected. 

That would mean leaving his home, never being able to return, or execution. Neither were comfortable options. The fact of the matter was that vanishing without a trace and having no possible way to get back to Cardassia hadn’t occurred to him as a possible option, so it was quite a shock when it did happen. 

He’d been leaving to Cardassia to visit his mother, who was horribly ill and likely to die within the coming weeks, and Dukat had asked him to take an alternate route out of the docking bay of Terok Nor to allow for another ship to have room to enter. It was nothing, literally nothing. A normal day. 

Until he was sucked into a vortex of sorts. Something he couldn’t explain and didn’t know if he wanted to. It was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

The controls of his ship went haywire as he exited the vortex, indicating he was millions of light years away from Terok Nor, and that he was in fact somewhere in the Gamma Quadrant. Which couldn’t be correct. 

But he had nothing else to go off of than what the ship’s controls told him, he was alone and his communications seemed to be down. 

The stars were unfamiliar as he looked out the ship’s viewport, and his scans indicated unknown planets and systems around him.

He spent several days working on the ship’s systems, but found nothing wrong, and was forced to come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, in the Gamma Quadrant. It would be impossible for him to travel back to Cardassia within his lifetime, even if he had a warp capable ship. 

The vortex he’d traveled through must have been a wormhole, but he was completely unable to locate its position, and he didn’t even know if it still existed. He was probably lucky to have survived at all, and ended up somewhere that didn’t kill him immediately. He’d never heard of a wormhole that actually remained stable for more than a few minutes. 

So he was left with only one choice now; to locate the nearest habitable planet and hope there was friendly, sentient life. 

As it ended up, sentient life located him before he did. Damar had been on his way to the closest star system with a M Class planet, but without warp, he had known he wouldn’t make it before his ship ran out of fuel, he ran out of food, or both, so he sent out a distress signal and hoped someone would find him. 

He ran out of fuel after a day, even after shutting off all nonessential power, and ran out of food and water three days later. He was found four days after that. Or, it was somewhere around four days, as he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past day, so he couldn’t be sure exactly when it was.

********

“Have you located the origin of the distress signal?” Weyoun asked as soon as he arrived on the bridge, addressing his Jem’Hadar First. 

“Yes. It is coming from a single ship headed toward Vandros IV. There is one life sign aboard. Very faint. Whatever it is will not survive longer than two or three more days.”

Weyoun drummed his fingers against the side of a control panel. “What kind of ship is it?”

“Our sensors do not recognize it.”

Frustrated, he drummed his fingers harder on the panel, nearly jamming his thumb into a rather important button. “The life sign. What is it?”

“Our sensors don’t recognize that either.”

“That’s impossible,” Weyoun snapped. “The Dominion’s reach would never allow for a species capable of building ships to exist within such close proximity to our territory without knowing about it.”

When he didn’t receive an answer, because he had instructed his first not to speak to him unless he asked a question or ordered him to do something, he took a deep breath. “Beam it aboard, directly into the brig, and I want it restrained before I come down to give it the necessary medical attention.” Because it would be a cold day in hell when Weyoun let a Jem’Hadar near any form of medical equipment. “And haul the ship in with a tractor beam, it belongs to the Dominion now. Contact the nearest research vessel and tell them to come pick it up. We’ll stay in this spot until then.”

“Right away,” the Jem’Hadar said, bowing his head. 

Weyoun looked away from him, once again tapping his hand against the control panel. 

Several minutes later, the Jem’Hadar spoke again. “The lifeform is unconscious, but it is secured in the brig. The medical equipment is outside of it whenever you have the time.”

“I have the time now,” Weyoun snapped, and the Jem’Hadar immediately silenced himself. Weyoun turned away abruptly, taking the turbolift down to the brig and dismissing all the Jem’Hadar guards but one. 

The lifeform was large, humanoid, and would altogether be quite intimidating if it wasn’t completely unconscious, handcuffed to the wall in Weyoun’s brig. It made him feel quite powerful, actually. Perhaps that was because it looked a bit like a Jem’Hadar from afar, and maybe Weyoun was projecting, and he should probably stop thinking those sorts of thoughts, they were bordering on blasphemous. 

Weyoun entered the brig, holding the various hyposprays in his hands and hastily adjusting the translator he’d dug out from his large collection of trinkets on his wrist. The Dominion no longer had use for translators, it was another one of their ways to control--to give the gift of their love to-- other cultures. All subjects of the Dominion spoke the same language, and species outside the Dominion learned to speak the language as well or risk offending them and becoming their next target. 

Thankfully, the translator beeped to life on Weyoun’s wrist, glowing a bright purple color Weyoun had always had an affinity for despite not really knowing how to interpret it. He wasn’t sure of this lifeform’s dietary needs, but the hyposprays were all he had, so he took a slow, deep breath, and injected them into its neck, then waited. 

It was pretty. It reminded Weyoun of one of the snakes that lived on the Vorta home planet, smooth, cool scales that changed colors and moved as it breathed. Weyoun was so focused on the movement of its breathing patterns across the scales on its neck that he jumped back in shock when it woke, eyes opening and gazing across the room as though it wasn’t quite aware what was happening, which Weyoun felt was valid. 

In fact, as Damar woke up, he first felt the handcuffs, and it took him several moments to adjust to both being awake and having the energy to stay that way, and even longer to adjust to the sight of a humanoid creature in front of him. 

Really, it said a lot about Damar’s level of sexual frustration at the moment that his first coherent thought was about how incredibly pretty the alien was. 

“Am I-” Damar began, his throat dry and parched, making it difficult to talk. “Am I a prisoner?” He tried again, and it hurt to speak, but he ignored it. 

The alien tilted its head, and then looked down at its wrist, where it wore a glowing purple bracelet of some kind. It touched the bracelet, and then looked back up at Damar. 

It said something, and Damar was struck by the soothing sound of its voice and language. It put him at ease, almost like he was being hypnotised by those slow, looping noises it made. It continued talking, and the Universal Translator Damar wore slowly began to interpret its language as it spoke. 

“Isn’t protocol--” The alien said, and words of its language were intertwined with Kardasi, “call--First--dismiss--” 

It was talking to another alien Damar hadn’t noticed before, who nodded and left the room, which Damar assumed was the brig. 

“Repeat--please?” The alien tilted its head to the side again, and Damar found it cute. 

Damar swallowed. “Am I a prisoner?” He repeated, and the alien nodded to indicate it had understood.

“No.”

“Ah. Do you have a name?” He asked, adjusting his position to put less strain on the handcuffs.

The alien reached into one of the many pockets in his terribly coordinated outfit and removed a key of some kind, reaching over and removing the handcuffs.

“My name is Weyoun. Tell me yours.”

“Damar.”

“Damar. My First will escort you to my quarters for now, and if you will remain there while I resolve some matters, I will question you further afterward. All of your needs should be taken care of, but if your species differs in physiological needs, please let him know.” Weyoun paused, as if to make sure Damar understood, and he did, nodding once in confirmation. 

Another alien, a different one from that which had been guarding Weyoun but of the same species, silently led Damar to a large room, filled with shelves upon shelves of what looked like ancient artifacts, small machines, books, and art pieces. The alien whose name Damar had yet to learn handed him a tray with some unidentified foods that looked like nuts and berries placed on it in delicate piles, and a large pitcher of what he hoped was water, and one glass. Damar chose to leave the food alone, not wanting to risk poisoning himself, but he was able to confirm the liquid was in fact water, thank the Gods. 

When Weyoun returned, entering his quarters not long after Damar had managed to find some semblance of normalcy in this situation, he was still just as pretty as he had been, his eyes just as mesmerizing, and his voice still smooth and calming. 

Apparently these aliens didn’t have the same concept of formality as Cardassians, because Weyoun hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk in front of Damar, who sat at his desk chair, not knowing what he should do. 

“Where do you come from, Damar? Your species is foreign to me,” Weyoun said, crossing his legs and leaning forward, resting his arms across his knee thoughtfully. As if he were appraising Damar’s appearance, which only made him feel stupidly self conscious. 

“As is yours. I believe I passed through a wormhole on my way to Cardassia.”

“Cardassia?” Weyoun repeated. “Is that your home?”

Damar nodded. “My ship’s systems told me I traveled millions of lightyears, I’m sure if you examine my ship’s logs, you'll see I’m telling the truth.”

“I assume you were unable to relocate the wormhole.”

Damar nodded. “I have no way to get back home.”

The look Weyoun gave him was one of artificial pity, but Damar chose to ignore the falsity of the expression. “Could you tell me… what you are? And who? And where I am?”

“I am a Vorta. We serve the Dominion, which, ah, brings me to a rather… sensitive matter.” Weyoun paused, as if he was struggling to come up with the appropriate words, or perhaps that was an act. He seemed sincere, but there was an inherent untrustworthy aura about his entire demeanor, like every word out of his mouth was a lie but Damar _wanted_ to believe him. “Your ship, and anything found within it, is now the property of the Dominion.”

Damar blinked. He’d expected that. Although Weyoun’s wording was purposefully vague, and he wasn’t looking Damar in the eye any longer. _“I_ was found in my ship,” Damar said, pointing out the obvious thing Weyoun had stepped around. 

“Yes,” he said.

“But you let me out of the brig.”

“Yes,” Weyoun said again. “You are sentient life form, and I plan to make an appeal to the Founders to allow you freedom as a citizen of the Dominion. I have already begun a report on your personality, and--”

“Who are the Founders?” Damar interrupted.

“My-” Weyoun hesitated as if he couldn’t come up with the appropriate words, “my creators,” he finally settled on, seeming content with that word.

“Creators,” Damar repeated, and he leaned forward and touched Weyoun’s wrist gently. When he didn’t pull away and instead watched Damar’s movements with silent appraisal, Damar wrapped his hand all the way around his wrist and felt his pulse, the warmth radiating from his skin. He pulled away again.

“What are you?” He asked again.

“I told you, I am a Vorta.”

“That isn’t what I mean and you know it.”

The look Weyoun gave him was one bordering on dangerous, but when he blinked, the expression was back to the amiable smile again. “The Vorta are… we are all clones. The Founders made us who we are, and we serve them as thanks for the gifts we received.”

“Do all the Vorta serve the Founders?” 

“Yes.”

“No exceptions?” Damar asked, rather disbelieving of that.

“We are genetically engineered to serve them.”

“So you have no choice?”

“Essentially, yes. That is accurate,” Weyoun said, and he didn’t seem bothered by it at all. His smile didn’t waver, it was almost disturbing. 

“What about the other species on this ship? There seem to be more of them than there are of you,” Damar said, choosing to change the subject rather than get into a moral argument over the Dominion’s political choices. He wasn’t exactly qualified to discuss political morality anyway, what with Cardassia’s occupation of Bajor.

“There is only one Vorta commander on each Dominion ship, yes. The Jem’Hadar,” Weyoun answered, “are the… military force of the Dominion. They are also genetically engineered to be loyal to the Dominion, if that was your next question.”

They were quiet for a moment, until Weyoun broke the silence by speaking again, his eyes traveling to the untouched platter of berries on the desk next to him. “Do you not require sustenance?” 

Damar glanced at the food, then looked away. “On my planet, most fruits are poisonous to us. I was unsure if those would be as well.”

“Ah. My apologies. That hadn’t occurred to me, you see, Vorta are immune to nearly all forms of poison. And I’m afraid this is the only food available on this ship.”

Damar blinked at him. “Nuts and berries? That’s it?” 

“The Jem’Hadar don’t eat.”

“But why…” Damar trailed off, gesturing to the platter as if to demonstrate his confusion at the lack of variety of foods which were apparently available.

“The Founders program our genetics in… rather limited ways regarding our senses. These are the only foods Vorta are able to taste.”

“Why?”

“It has never occurred to me to question them.”

That seemed to be Weyoun’s opinion on most matters. He didn’t question the Founders, no matter how much Damar began to feel their decision-making, especially in regards to the Vorta, warranted questioning. 

********

Weyoun _did_ question the Founders. He never expressed his questioning aloud, but he was in a near constant cycle of questioning the Founders, feeling horrible for questioning them, praying for forgiveness, and then questioning them again. 

He was currently questioning the Founders for their decision to kill the Cardassian, Damar, instead of allowing him to live as a citizen of the Dominion. He’d come to the Founder’s homeworld to plead for his life, as over the past few days, he had come to enjoy Damar’s company, learning about the cultures in what he called the Alpha Quadrant, where he was from. 

He transported down to the planet, on the only area he was permitted to be on it, the large garden where the Founders practiced their shapeshifting. He waited over an hour for the Founder to appear, not that it mattered, because time did not exist for the Founders, so it didn’t exist for the Vorta. He spent the time examining the plantlife, humming to himself a nondescript tune Damar had taught him yesterday. 

“Weyoun.” The sharp, clear voice of the Founder interrupted him mid-note, not that it mattered, because despite Damar’s best attempts, Weyoun had no musical abilities whatsoever. 

He spun around, lowering his head and spreading his arms, palms up in a submissive bow. “Founder.”

“What were you doing?”

“Founder, I was… I was examining the plantlife.” He wasn’t sure why he hesitated, and his arms shook slightly as he lowered them.

“You know that is not what I meant.”

“I… apologize, Founder. I meant no offense. I was attempting to replicate a… song I heard.”

“A song. Where would you possibly have heard a _song_ and felt compelled to replicate it? And in our, your _creators’,_ home, the place where the first Weyoun was lovingly created. And you choose to defile it with the flagrant disobedience of ignoring _everything_ you were designed to do?”

Had Weyoun been any more rebellious than he already was, he would have questioned exactly why humming a song was so terrible in the eyes of the Founders, but instead, he pushed all of those thoughts away and knelt down, closing his eyes. “Founder, that was _never_ my intention. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No. You weren’t. Especially not as I was intending to allow you to keep this… alien you’ve stumbled upon, so long as you kept it under control. Now, I see it must be teaching you to disobey me.”

 _“No,_ I would _never,_ no matter what any alien creature told me, I would _never-”_

“Enough.” The Founder took a solid form briefly, too vague to be distinguished as any particular species, before transforming into abstract shapes again, only forming a mouth when they needed to speak.

“I want it dead,” The Founder said, and Weyoun couldn’t help but look up in shock, and the tears that filled his eyes surprised even him. “Clearly, it is dangerous.”

Weyoun took a moment to compose himself, he knew that another misstep would end with the Founder telling him he was defective, so he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting the seconds as he stared resolutely back down at the ground.

“Yes, Founder. I will have the Jem’Hadar execute him--it--right away.”

“No,” The Founder said, and Weyoun resisted the urge to look up.

“No?” He repeated questioningly. 

“I want you to execute it.”

“Founder-”

“I do not want to hear your excuses.”

Weyoun tried desperately to come up with an excuse, a reason he couldn’t possibly kill Damar. “I have never- Founder, please, I’ve never… killed someone before. I don’t think I am capable of it.”

“Then become capable of it. Immediately. If you cannot, you will activate your implant. Dismissed.” 

The Founder disappeared in a cloud of fog and Weyoun was left alone, only for several seconds before he transported back up to the ship. 

His Jem’Hadar First walked with him back to his quarters, where Damar waited for his report on the Founders’ decision. He dismissed the Jem’Hadar as he entered, and his face must have betrayed more than he’d hoped it would, because Damar stood from where he’d been lounging on Weyoun’s bed and wrapped an arm around him. It wasn’t abnormal behavior for them, the past few days had brought Damar closer to Weyoun than he’d ever been to another lifeform. 

Vorta weren’t meant to have bonds, not of any kind, and not even with each other. Weyoun hadn’t even been aware of the concept of romance until his fourth or fifth diplomatic mission, when the Founders had significantly altered his physical appearance to attract a very sexually driven species of aliens who lived on a planet rich in unmined dilithium. The mission had been a success, but it wasn’t something he looked back on with pride. The Founders were disgusted by the very idea of physical intimacy, and so Weyoun had to research it on his own, practicing how he should act and what he should do, and perhaps the worst part of that period of time hadn’t been the disgust he’d felt at himself (when the Founders hated something, the Vorta hated it as well, that was the way things were), but the fact that he’d found it fun. He’d enjoyed it. 

He wasn’t sure why he’d begun thinking about that time in his life, or rather, Weyoun Two’s life, more often since encountering Damar. He was already questioning the Founders far more than he should. It wouldn’t do to disobey their wishes in any more ways. 

Damar didn’t know, he didn’t know a lot of things about Weyoun, but he seemed to somehow understand despite that. He somehow knew what had happened on the Founder’s planet, and he sat with Weyoun on his--now their, technically--bed (yet another way Weyoun disobeyed the Founders, they believed Damar was still being kept in the brig), silently waiting for him to speak. 

“The Founders have asked me to kill you,” Weyoun finally said, looking up at Damar and hoping to find the answer in his face. “I… disappointed them. It is my fault. They planned to allow you to live, but I- it is my fault.”

“They’re manipulating you, Weyoun,” Damar said in answer, staring down at his lap. “You have to see that. They had no plans to allow me to go free, or even to let me live imprisoned somewhere. They realized you and I had bonded, and now they’ll use this as an opportunity to manipulate you, to keep you in line.”

Despite the way Weyoun’s eyes shone with unshed tears, he managed to find that streak of confident cruelty he always tried to keep in the back of his mind. “Or perhaps you’re only saying that because you don’t want to be killed.”

“Of course I don’t want to be killed,” Damar said, as if it were obvious. “I would say anything to avoid being killed, but that doesn’t change the fact they _are_ manipulating you.”

Weyoun blinked at him, running his hands up and down Damar’s arms briefly. “They ordered me to be the one to kill you.”

“Unsurprising,” Damar said, and he may have said the words calmly, but Weyoun felt him shift away microscopically. “Have you ever killed someone before?”

He shook his head. 

“How are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know.” Weyoun swallowed, leaning over and resting his head against Damar’s shoulder. “How would you do it?”

Damar’s hand rested against the back of his head, playing with his hair. “I wouldn’t.”

“They ordered me to do it. I can’t disobey them.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to kill you,” Damar responded. 

“Hm,” Weyoun mumbled, running a finger across the ridges on his face. “You could.”

“What?”

“Kill me. I’m a clone, remember? You’ll kill me, take an escape shuttle to the nearest planet, and live out your life there.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Weyoun.”

“I’ll come back. If I kill you, you won’t. It seems an obvious decision to me.” He continued tracing the ridges, up to his eyes and back down across the other side of his face.

“Why can’t you just come with me?”

“You know I can’t.”

Weyoun took Damar’s hand, leading it down from his hair and onto the back of his neck. “Feel this? Press it, it’s a termination implant. It’s painless.”

“Who told you that? The Founders?” Damar pulled his hand away from the switch. “I wouldn’t trust that. I wouldn’t trust _them.”_

“Damar, _please,_ just kill me, because if you don’t do it, I _will,”_ he said, fighting away Damar’s attempts to keep his hands away from the implant. 

“Weyoun, _no,_ no, I want you to _stop, stop it._ I’ll _do_ it, just _stop.”_

He did, his hands stilled and he stared up at Damar, who had ended up on top of him on the bed, pinning his wrists down. He pulled back, letting him go, and leaned back against the headboard. The silence was deafening. Weyoun shifted, sitting up, watching as Damar stared up at the ceiling. 

“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I momentarily forgot that your people have differing views of death. A… permanent view. Rest assured, I will be cloned again within an hour and be perfectly alright. I may even see you again at some point.”

“I know. You’ve mentioned that. But it doesn’t make it much easier.”

“Tell me, Damar, do your people… participate in physical intimacy the way many others do?”

“I… believe so, yes. Do yours?” 

Weyoun shook his head. “We aren’t meant to. But I’ve always found the concept… fascinating."

“Have you?” 

“I’d like to… experience it with you,” Weyoun said hesitantly. “Before you terminate me.”

“You are, by far, the strangest creature I have ever encountered.”


	3. The Implant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weyoun and Damar are living together about two years after the war, and Weyoun realizes he isn’t as well-adjusted as he thought he was.
> 
> Pairings: Weyoun/Damar

It was a normal day for Weyoun, he was watching Damar cook breakfast in their cottage, sitting on the counter and swinging his legs. Thoughts of the war were far away, even if memories of it lived around them just outside their door. He smiled gently as Damar turned towards him, setting a plate of food next to him. 

“Thank you,” he said, reaching forward and pulling him in, wrapping his legs around his waist. 

“A better form of thanks would be if you actually ate it,” Damar responded, although he didn’t seem bothered by the way Weyoun held him, gently cupping Weyoun’s face in his hands. 

“I will,” he said, running his fingers across the scales on his neck. 

Damar’s hand twitched against Weyoun, and it was probably an accident, of  _ course  _ it was an accident, because Damar would never do it on purpose, because he knew, but his hand brushed briefly across the long scar on Weyoun’s neck, where his termination implant had been only two years ago. 

It made Weyoun freeze, a cold shock running through his body, before searing pain kicked in and he forgot how to breathe, or maybe he  _ couldn’t  _ breathe anymore, and he pushed Damar away, nearly toppling off the counter in his hasty attempt to stand. 

“I need to- excuse me- a moment-” He managed, tripping over nothing as he ran out of the cottage, because if he was going to die he wasn’t going to make Damar see it, not again, and he was sure Damar was following him, but he couldn’t look back. His legs collapsed underneath him before he even reached the front gate, and his vision darkened as he collapsed on the path.

_ The Founder was before him, not the way they appeared during the war, but the way Weyoun knew them, an ever-changing amalgam of shapes, rippling and morphing. They spoke to him, and he couldn’t understand the words, a language Weyoun didn’t speak, all he knew was that they were so angry at him, they were promising him pain and suffering, and he knew he deserved it.  _

_ Horrible pain rippled through his body even as he attempted to kneel before the Founder, to beg forgiveness and for another chance, and the Founder laughed at him, a cold, cruel, sound.  _

“Garak called me, he was in the garden and saw Weyoun collapse. He thought you might need assistance.”

“I appreciate it, Dr. Bashir, but there isn't anything wrong with him physically. It’s happened before, and it’s entirely my fault.”

“His implant?”

“I accidentally touched it, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It isn’t your fault, it’s the changeling’s fault for putting it there in the first place. You remember how many episodes he had after the first weeks I removed it?”

“But it isn’t-”

“Blaming yourself won’t help him.”

_ The words of Dr. Bashir and Damar faded out again, and the Founder reappeared, laughing at him as Weyoun cried out in agony. _

_ “You lied, you lied to me. You lied to all of us. You said it would be painless. You promised it wouldn’t hurt, because you loved us.” _

_ The Founder spoke again, and Weyoun still couldn’t understand their words, and he knew why. He’d betrayed them, he’d grown too far from his Gods and he no longer spoke their ancient language.  _

_ The agony didn’t fade away quickly, it remained a dull ache in his chest as visions of the Founder continued, fading in and out along with his consciousness. They appeared behind him and across from him, in front of him and following as he ran away. _

_ “Weyoun. Come here. Come back to me.” _

_ “No. No, I won’t.” _

_ “It’s alright. Come here to me. Come back, Weyoun.” _

_ The voice of the Founder changed along with their appearance, morphing into the image of Damar, speaking to him in soothing tones.  _

_ “No. No, stop that.” _

_ “Weyoun, don’t you love me?” _

_ “No.” Weyoun shook his head, covering his eyes, but the vision persisted. “Not like this, not you.” _

“Weyoun.”

His eyes snapped open and he gasped, sitting up and nearly hitting Dr. Bashir across the face as he did so.

“Are you alright?”

He took a moment to breathe, closing his eyes and trying to control his heart rate. “I am perfectly well, Doctor. Thank you for your concern, but you can leave. I don’t wish to waste your time.”

Dr. Bashir seemed hesitant to do so, but he glanced at Damar, who nodded. 

“I’ll call if we need anything.”

Weyoun watched the doctor leave, watched as Damar locked the door behind him and turned back to Weyoun.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, reaching towards the place Weyoun \’s hand rested on their bed and holding it gently. 

“It isn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve been more careful.”

“Damar, it isn’t your fault,” Weyoun repeated shakily. He squeezed his hand, pulling him closer and wrapping his other arm around him. 

“Still-”

“Shush. I thought I was the one who talked too much.” Weyoun managed to smile at him, trying to convince them both he was alright. “You don’t need to worry about me so much. You can always make a new one if I-”

Damar interrupted him. “Don’t you dare. Don’t start with that. You are not replaceable.”

Weyoun pursed his lips, wanting to cross his arms petulantly but not wanting to let go of Damar. “Fine. As long as you stop worrying about me so much.”

“I refuse to promise that.”

A smile forced its way onto his face as he nuzzled into Damar’s neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

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> 


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